


Epilogue

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After it's all said and done, only two remain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Kitty Poker](http://kitty-poker1.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Banner by [Selene2](http://selene2.livejournal.com/).

 

  


> It was the end of the world—the end of their world.
> 
> It was the end of **them**.
> 
> As Willow's voice rang out over the melee, everything seemed to…stop. After a moment of silence, they heard it: a faint rumble in the distance, then it began to grow, louder and louder until it was a roar, and the air split open and hell opened its mouth and…a demon yelled as it was sucked inside.
> 
> One by one, they all began to slide into the portal, clawing and roaring and yelling—vampires and Polgaras and Fyarls—until all the demons had been swallowed up.
> 
> But the spell was still hungry; it roared and crackled and the earth shook beneath her feet…and then Kennedy slid into the portal.
> 
> And Vi and Satsu.
> 
> It was eating the Slayers as well.
> 
> Dawn ran through the mass of Slayers, standing and gaping at the thing that would be their ending, until she found the **one**. She linked their fingers together and closed her eyes.
> 
> They were screaming; brave little girls falling to the mouth that was devouring each and every trace of magic in the dimension.
> 
> She'd never been so scared in her life.
> 
>  
> 
> And then there was a tug on her hand.
> 
> Her eyes popped open; Buffy was sliding backwards, wide-eyed and pale. Heart in her throat, she grabbed Buffy's hand with both of hers, pitting her weight against the gaping maw hanging in the sky.
> 
> "Dawn, let go."
> 
> "No." She shut her eyes again. She wouldn't see…
> 
> "Dawn…"
> 
> She wouldn't look, wouldn't see, wouldn't watch as they slid closer and closer…
> 
> …and Buffy's fingers slipped from her grasp.

 

* * *

 

Dawn hummed quietly as she stirred, swaying gently back and forth with the motion of the spoon, the pot bubbling happily along with her song.

She smiled as a strong hand grasped her shoulder.

"Mmmm. What's cookin', good lookin'?"

She grinned, reaching over her shoulder to pop Xander on the nose with her spoon.

"Soup."

"Yum. I'm all rumbly with excitement." He leaned over her shoulder, glancing into the pot, then sniffing loudly. "Hey, isn't that…?"

She tilted her head against his, where it was resting on her shoulder. "Yeah. It's Mom's recipe." She gestured to the counter, where a yellowed piece of paper lay, edges frayed and ink smeared.

He moved closer to inspect it. "This is…"

"The original, yeah." She leaned over to sample the soup; it needed salt.

"I didn't know you had anything like this, that there was anything left."

"Souvenir of my klepto days." Blushing, she looked away.

"Never thought I'd see the day where I was _glad_ for that phase of your life." He glanced up; she peeked at him from behind her hair. "It's…great. I'm glad there's…_something_."

"Yeah." She stared out the window, inhaling deeply; the scent brought back so many memories. Some days she could almost hear her mom call her 'pumpkin belly.'

Smiling softly, she gave the pot another stir before grabbing a hand towel from the rack and snapping it in Xander's direction. "And if you want _something_, you'd better go wash your hands. Eau de sweaty construction worker ruins the appetite."

He held his hands up in surrender—"Alright. I know when I'm beaten"—and, grinning, left the kitchen.

Tucking the recipe into a drawer, she took two bowls from the cabinet.

 

* * *

 

_"I don't like this." Crossing her arms over her chest, Dawn turned to look out the window._

"I know."

"I've been over the spell a dozen times, and the translation's sound, but…"

"Always with the 'but'." Buffy grimaced.

"Yeah. Color me buttastic." She picked up the tome in question and glanced at the spell again, even though it was practically imprinted on her retinas. "It's just…we're missing something."

"Hey, don't look at me. You and Willow are the brains, I'm just…pointy-stick girl."

"Best pointy-stick girl I know." Dawn smirked. "And I know a lot of them."

"Dawn." Buffy took a few steps closer.

Her smirk fell away as the conversation turned serious. "I'm scared."

"I know," Buffy said as she wrapped an arm around Dawn's waist and pulled her close. "Me, too."

"I mean, we never really found out…" she glanced up at Buffy, eyes wide, "…what I am."

"Dawn."

"No. I'm your sister. I know that." Sniffing, she pulled away. "I know that in **here**"—her fingertips came to rest lightly against Buffy's chest—"I'm always that. But…we can't ignore the fact that I wasn't born like normal girls, even like Slayer-normal girls. If we're gonna suck the magic from this universe…"

"Dawn."

This time, when Buffy reached for her, she didn't pull away.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, they settled on the sofa in front of the television, Dawn curled up against Xander's side, his arm around her shoulder and his fingers toying with the end of her ponytail.

She flipped through the channels idly, pausing on a re-run of _Big Brother_, then moving on to that weird movie with Hugh Grant that kinda had no point. Well, one of them anyways.

She glanced over at Xander when he tugged on her ponytail.

"So, was the second week of college any more scintillating than the first?"

"Nah. Although the professors seemed to have caught on that we know how to read."

"Ah."

"Helps that you only have one syllabus per semester."

"I've heard that." Xander paused, raising a brow and stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe not, but if you're happy, I'm happy."

"Well, I wouldn't say _happy_, exactly. I still have to do that twenty-five page paper on my personal history and 'chosen career path', whatever that is. I mean, how am I going to write about my his—"

"Holy bat testicles, will you look at that." Xander was gaping at the screen, where Hugh Grant was dancing across the television.

"Oh. It's _that_ one." Grabbing the remote, she changed the channel.

"Creative editing," Xander answered her half-asked question, squeezing her shoulder as she leaned over to rest against his chest. "I'm an old pro. I can help for a marginal fee."

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "Do you want to go back to Chinese takeout every night?"

Xander grimaced. "Or, I could do it for free." Glancing down, he winked. "My stomach and I salute you, oh, Mistress of the Soup Pot."

A wave of giggles bubbled up her throat and she reached for a throw pillow, which she promptly launched at Xander's head.

Drawing himself up from his slouched position, Xander struck a pose. "Now them's fightin' words. Or actions. I get confused in my head sometimes." Grinning evilly, he attacked Dawn's sides with wriggling fingers.

"No, Xander!" Shrieking, she twisted away, nearly knocking her head against the coffee table as she flipped around so she could pummel him with her feet. Naturally, he caught one of them and began tickling the bottom while she laughed and kicked and squirmed.

"Stop it!"

"What's that? I can't hear you?"

"Xanderrrr!"

Jerking away, she scrambled to get her feet beneath her and launched her body towards his, tackling him to the ground and stepping on the remote in the process.

She straddled his stomach, squeezing his sides with her knees and slipping her fingers under his arms. He slapped at her hands, yelling when she found _the spot_. Laughing, she intensified her attack.

They both froze when a roar came from the television.

A big green monster charged across the screen, chasing a teenage girl into the darkness.

Dawn scrambled for the remote, flipping through the channels until she found the Hugh Grant movie.

Silently, Dawn put the throw pillow back in its place and they resumed their arrangement on the couch.

 

They didn't watch monster movies, any more.

 

* * *

 

_"Come on, it's time to go."_

Face tucked firmly between her knees, Dawn didn't answer.

"Dawn, you have to go to school."

She huddled into the corner of the sofa.

"Dawn."

"It's stupid," she answered, her voice quiet, muffled by her jeans.

"Don't I know it. But you have to do it. And I have to go to work, and it sucks, don't you think I know it sucks? But we have to do it."

Trembling, she looked up, eyes glassy with tears. "Why?"

"Because it's what we have to do." Sighing, he slumped down next to her, patting her back awkwardly, but firmly.

"It's wrong." She took a shuddering breath as a tear rolled down her cheek. "That we should…all those people…it's just…they should be here."

"Yeah. They should. But they're not—they're gone now, and we're still here."

A whimpering noise clawed its way up her throat.

"So we've got to go on. It's ha—" his voice broke, punctuated by two short barking half-laugh, half-sobs. Shutting his eyes, he folded himself in half, hands folded over his head.

The grief in her chest swelled in sympathy; she rocked, hugging herself as she began to sob.

They sat, for minutes…hours…days, close enough to touch, but taking no comfort from the other, until finally Xander spoke.

"It's hard. It's so damn hard, and I don't know how we're going to do it. But I know we've got to. The world keeps moving, and we can't stop. We've got to keep going, Dawn."

Sniffling, she studied his profile, finally asking, "Why?"

He turned and met her gaze.

"Because it's all that's left."

 

* * *

 

Dawn yawned as the credits rolled; unfortunately, the movie hadn't made any more sense the second time around.

"Methinks it's time to turn in." Xander rose from the sofa, stretching. "Although you've gotta wonder, turn in to _what_?"

Dawn groaned, clutching her forehead. "I don't think I can take any more. The movie was bad enough!"

"It did kinda make the sense that's not."

"Ugh. I've got an eight o' clock class in the morning," she whined as she stood, yawning again before collecting the glasses they'd been drinking from and carrying them to the kitchen sink. "Who in their right mind would schedule college classes at eight? Do they even _know_ how college kids live?"

Together, they walked down the hallway, bumping shoulders in the narrow space.

"Possibly the same sadistic morons who decided that construction should start when the sun comes up."

"God. Don't be all logical and crap. It's _so_ not becoming."

They came to a stop in front of her room. She leaned against the doorframe, studying his face in the low light.

"Ixnay on the ogiclay. Check." He shuffled his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, 'night, Dawnster."

She snorted, placing a hand on her hip. "What am I, five? Eighteen, Xander. Nearly nineteen. I think I'm a bit old for that."

"I guess you're right."

"Well, 'night." Holding her breath, she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. They were dry and a little rough, but yielded ever-so-slightly to her advance. Blushing, she pulled away.

"Dawn—"

Looking away—"Goodnight, Xander"—she turned and went into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Heart thumping frantically in her chest, she slid to the floor.

 

* * *

 

_The lights were dim, vague shadows flickering against the wall, as a slow ballad wafted through the air._

David's arms were warm around her waist, his shoulders solid under her head.

"I'm so glad you came with me, Dawn."

"Mmmm," she hummed, noncommittally.

David wasn't **the** most popular boy in school, but he was part of the in-crowd, was on the school's basketball team and on the A-B honor roll, and more than one girl had watched enviously as he'd led her onto the dance floor.

She didn't know why she felt so wrong.

Senior prom was supposed to be exciting, something looked forward to all year and remembered for the rest of her life.

Now that she was there, she wanted nothing more than to go home and sit on the couch in her pajamas while Xander made fun of the characters on some crap made-for-TV movie.

He had nicer shoulders, anyways.

Frowning, she pulled away from David.

"It's time for punch."

"Oh. Okay. You want me to…?" He trailed off, gesturing to the refreshment table.

"Sure." She began backing towards the exit. "Ladies' room. I'll be back, um…later."

"Oh. Alright."

She turned her back on David's confused frown and left the room.

Shaking, she slumped into a chair in the entryway and pulled her cell from her beaded clutch.

"Xander?"

"Hey, how's it goin', I'm-prettier-than-everyone-else-at-the-Prom girl?"

Her face stretched into a grin. "It's okay. I just wondered…if you're not doing anything, could you come get me?"

"Why?" Teasing tone gone, Xander's voice was edgy with worry. "What happened? Did **he** do something?"

"No! No. David's fine... I just…I'm ready to come home and he's still having a good time and… Will you come get me?"

"Yeah. I'll be right there."

Flipping the phone closed, she sighed.

She felt better already.

 

* * *

 

She couldn't sleep.

She'd tossed and turned for hours, staring into the blackness and remembering the feel of Xander's lips against her mouth, the firmness of his chest under her head, the way he smelled a little like sawdust, even after his shower.

There was a good possibility that she was going crazy.

But she knew what her heart wanted, what it had wanted for the better part of a year, and she'd waited…and waited…for Xander to see her as an adult.

It wasn't happening.

Setting her jaw, she threw the blanket from the bed and sat up.

It was time to push.

Exiting her room, she crept down the dark hallway until she reached Xander's bedroom door.

She took a deep breath and then opened it, slipping inside and closing it again before navigating towards the bed. Through the dim, she could see him, starfished across the bed, arms and legs askew, mouth slightly open.

Smiling, she slid onto the mattress, fitting herself against his side and resting her head on his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat echoing in her ear.

Grunting slightly, he stirred; she lifted her head to look his way.

"Huh?"

"Just me."

"Dawn?"

"Yeah."

The texture of his t-shirt was soft underneath her fingertips.

"You shouldn't…we shouldn't…"

"Shh," she said, softly, resuming her position on his chest.

"Dawn…"

"Nightmare," she whispered against his shirt.

"Oh. Unh. Talking. Later."

She smiled as she felt him slump against the mattress.

As his breathing evened out, she wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed closer.

Within moments, she was asleep.

 

* * *

 

_"It's nice out here," Dawn commented, closing her eyes as the cool night breeze ruffled her hair._

"MmmHmm."

She glanced over at Xander, whose entire focus was on his newest creation.

She watched as he worked on a piece of wood, rubbing back and forth, brown eye fixed on a nothing that was becoming a something.

Seems like it was a talent he'd always had, making something out of nothing.

"Will you hand me that piece"—he pointed to a sheet of sandpaper on the porch next to her—"right there?"

Silently, she handed it over.

His face a mask of concentration, he began sanding again.

She continued her study, fixated on the exact movements of his fingers, the way his hair flopped against his forehead in the breeze, the way he bit his lip when he was concentrating...

She was so doomed.

She wasn't exactly sure when friendship had turned into something more, but she knew exactly the moment he'd become someone other than 'Xander, funny guy and Buffy's friend'. It was in Sunnydale, during the mad hunt for potential Slayers, the day after she'd learned that she wouldn't follow in Buffy's footsteps, that instead of becoming a Slayer, she'd stay 'just Dawn.' That day, he'd looked at her, seen **her**, Dawn Summers, and had proclaimed her extraordinary, telling her there was no '**just**' in 'just Dawn'.

She'd supposed he knew what he was talking about; he'd been 'just Xander' for years and, yet, she'd never thought of him that way.

She was startled from her musings when he spoke.

"What do you think?" He was holding up some sort of long, pole-like thing, with a series of bumps and ridges in the middle.

"It's great!" She tilted her head, studying it from another angle. "What is it?"

"It's a rung." He stated, raising an eyebrow.

She stared back, blankly.

"For the banister on the stairs, sixth from the top, the one that's been missing since we moved in?"

"Oh. **That** rung."

He rolled his eyes and stood. "Wanna come see if it fits?"

"Nah, I'm gonna hang."

"Alright, but you don't know what you're missing—those stairwells can be…well, pretty much fairly still and kinda quiet, but I think that first step's a bit larger than normal."

She laughed as he grabbed some clamps and some wood glue from his bag and went inside, still muttering about sadistic staircases.

Sighing, she slouched against the siding.

She was in love with Xander Harris.

She wasn't an expert in how it all worked, or even what it felt like, but she knew that somewhere along the line 'Xander' had come to mean home and hope and love, and she couldn't think of anything more important than that.

 

* * *

 

She woke up alone.

And a bit disoriented, finding herself in a room where the decorating scheme was 'exploded laundry basket' instead of 'intellectual chic on a budget.'

Sighing heavily, she buried her face in a pillow.

It smelled wonderful.

Now smiling, she rose from the bed and headed to the shower.

After dressing, carefully styling her hair and meticulously—she wanted to look older, _not_ like a hooker—putting on her makeup, she entered the kitchen, where Denial-Boy was making pancakes.

"Hey."

Xander jumped—"Gah!"—and fumbled his plate, barely catching the short-stack before it plummeted to the floor.

Blinking rapidly, he set the plate on the table and held up a finger, like a warning. "Don't do that."

"What?" She smirked. "Walk? Talk?"

"You know very well, Harriet. Eat your pancakes." He turned to the stove and flipped another pancake, grumbling under his breath, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were Spike's little sister."

She smiled sadly at the thought of Spike before shoving a forkful of pancakes into her mouth, choking it down in a dry swallow before commenting, "He taught me well."

"Too well." Xander finished plating up his own pancakes and sat down at the table. "Hand me the syrup?"

"Sure." She passed the bottle his way and their fingers brushed together.

He jerked away, as if stung. "Dawn."

"Xander." Straightening in her chair, she folded her arms across her chest; it was time to do battle.

"Dawn, we…I mean, we can't…it just wouldn't be—"

"I'm not going to listen to this."

Xander put his fork down, resting his elbows on the table, shoulders hunched defensively. "Dawn…"

"No. I'm too young, you're too old, you feel like a perv because I'm Buffy's sister…I get it." Standing, she stalked towards Xander, coming to a stop next to his chair. "And I don't care."

Gently she reached for one of his hands, twining their fingers together, tracing the callous on the heel with her thumb. She knelt down next to his chair, leaning close enough to smell his shampoo.

"You're afraid to love me, Xander." Wincing, he turned away. Quietly, she continued, "You're afraid of what it says about you, afraid of what might happen to me, afraid that I might leave."

"You'll be late for class."

"So, I'll be late."

She ran her fingers through his hair gently, petting as much as caressing; he was trembling beneath her fingertips. Since the spell, he'd always been her rock, so strong and steady, holding her together when she just wanted to fly apart, to follow her sister into the abyss. And now…

He seemed so _fragile_, so afraid and so alone.

She wondered if he'd always been that way.

He'd never shown this side of himself to her; she was warmed that he believed she was finally mature enough to handle it.

And she was.

It was her turn to hold him together.

His jaw was stubbly under her fingertips; she tilted his face to her, studying the lone brown eye she had come to love.

She could read his hopes, his fears, his dreams…everything in that eye and, suddenly, she knew things would work out.

"Xander," she moved closer, her lips hovering next to his, eyelids fluttering at the feel of his breath against her skin, "we both know it's too late for that."

Smiling softly, she whispered against his mouth, "I love you, too." Pressing forward, she caressed his lips with hers, lapping at them with her tongue, groaning softly as the dry brush became slippery-smooth, and then, _finally_…

…his lips parted.

 

And he kissed back.

 

* * *

 

> Boneless, she fell to the ground.
> 
> With one last blast of sound, the portal vanished and the world was still again.
> 
>  
> 
> They were gone.
> 
>  
> 
> The Slayers, Giles, Willow…Buffy…
> 
>  
> 
> She'd never see them again.
> 
>  
> 
> "Dawn."
> 
> **Xander**. Xander was still there.
> 
> She turned and watched as he stumbled forward, stopping a few feet from where she was crumpled in the dirt.
> 
> "I…" Xander started, his voice cracking. "Dawn."
> 
> He looked so lost, eye reddened and puffy, staring blankly at where they'd disappeared.
> 
> He looked like she felt.
> 
>  
> 
> They were gone.
> 
>  
> 
> A cry bubbled up from her chest and burst from her mouth, breaking the stillness. Shattering, she began to tremble, loud, painful sobs jerking her body as tears slid down her cheeks to drip off her nose and chin. They splashed onto the earth below, staining the ground with her grief.
> 
> She barely registered the shuffling of feet as Xander came nearer, but she felt the weight of his body as he slumped next to her, his forehead coming to rest against her own.
> 
> His tears fell next to hers, dark spots in the dirt.

 

 

_FIN_.[](http://www.statcounter.com/)

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/206151.html).


End file.
